


Like a Saturated Sunrise

by onlyhuman



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abundance of flowers, Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Felching, Flower theft, I'm so sorry for the filth it got away from me, It's also a little sad here and there but nothing too angsty don't worry, M/M, Minor Character Death, Outdoor Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyhuman/pseuds/onlyhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't necessarily enjoy gardening.  Which makes it all the more annoying that someone has been cutting off flowers as they see fit.</p><p>Or, alternatively: the one where Louis has a love/hate relationship with his garden and Harry is the most innocent criminal to ever exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Saturated Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjoym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjoym/gifts).



> Thanks to flix911 for the prompt! As simple as it is, sticking to a prompt is hard for me, apparently. As always, I made this much more plot heavy than it was meant to be, causing some unnecessary breakdowns along the way because I ended up churning out 12k in one night. I hope you’re happy nonetheless. Also, I stole the plot from [this post](http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/116941769918/awful-au-196) because I couldn’t _not_ write it.
> 
> First, I need to dedicate this to Amber C. for being my very own saltmate who forced me to write this and basically let it get out of control before it even began. The endless WhatsApp conversations at random times of any day to make sure that we had all the details figured out were exactly what I needed - she knew more about Harry’s background than I did, honestly. AC, you’re a champ and the love of my life, really. Let’s get drunk soon. Also, I want to thank Susa and Nina for letting me go loose with ideas on their asses and telling me that I really don’t suck at this. Being a writer really is awful sometimes, guys. So is being my friend. I’m sorry. I love you.
> 
> That being said, I need to thank [Melissa](http://bourgeoix.tumblr.com) for betaing and [Vikki](http://larrybitsandbobs.tumblr.com) for britpicking so last-minute. I suck at time management and pinch hitting made it worse - you are both saints and have my endless gratitude for making my stilted non-native English sound natural.
> 
> Because I’m a sap, I made a playlist. You can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/reignbeau/playlist/1GsWQXKjcd3nZCTgQMZXIu). The unofficial theme song of this fic is Beautiful World by Adam Crossley and the title is taken from Halsey's song Colors, because she's amazing and badass and I love her.
> 
> Anyway, on to the fic. There's boys being very, very dumb and not using condoms and there are character deaths involved, but those aren't happening in real time. It's mostly just background information that builds up the characters! Don't fret, everything will be okay.

~*~

Louis doesn't necessarily enjoy gardening.

In fact, if anyone had asked him beforehand, he would've said that spending your time on plants that seem to grow whenever Louis turns his back on them is a waste of time, space and money. Mostly a waste of time, really. He would've said he had better things to occupy himself with. For instance, lazing around the house all day and doing whatever he feels like. As you do.

And yet. Yet. He's still sat here somehow, surrounded by a sea of lilacs and pinks and green, taunting his every move and challenging Louis to not cut off a single leaf. His hand tightens around the armrest of his chair as the sun reduces his eyes to small slits, blinding him slightly.

See, the garden isn't his. Not really. For god's sakes, he's twenty-three - digging around in mud every Sunday just so the small patch of land behind his house looks anything less than hideous isn't what he imagines himself doing on a weekly basis. Based on his life until now, lying around and nursing a hangover sounds more like it.

The thing is, though, that the garden isn't his to ruin, isn't his legacy to abandon and leaving to whither until it's dead and over with. He would never dishonour his Nan like that.

It's getting hotter outside, the sun getting increasingly warmer. His skin turns a stressed colour of white as he clamps down on the armrests and thinks about the reason he's sitting here in the first place.

Honestly, he's lucky to be living in this house; lucky that he gets to be here. It's big and spacious and most importantly, for now it's all his. Yet he has to admit that living here still has a bitter aftertaste. Louis wouldn't have gotten the house if his Nan hadn't died and his granddad hadn't been forced to move to a retirement home (and died of heartbreak right after). No one left to keep up the garden but Louis, who does it out of pure sentiment. And love, if he’s honest. Even if he'd rather spend his time getting drunk with Zayn and Liam, this garden is a memory, a legacy and a pain in the arse all at once. Every plant he's ever tried to repot has died under his not-so-green thumb.

Which makes it all the more annoying that someone has been cutting off flowers as they see fit.

Louis doesn't really know when it started. He can't exactly pin it down to a certain point in time. He started noticing that his rose bushes were looking bleaker, not exactly as he left it, is the thing, and he'd just passed it off as birds or the wind, but it kept happening to his other flowers as well. After a while, he'd noticed a pattern.  
  
Every Sunday, like clockwork. He'll check his garden on Saturday, see that it looks fine, go to bed relaxed and the Sunday after that, the rocking chair has moved a little, the bushes are crooked and have been stomped upon and a collection of flowers will have been cut from their stems. Flowers keep disappearing, his lilies, his roses, a few orchids here and there - and it's hard enough to maintain this damn garden without some sort of bloody flower thief stealing them as they see fit, alright? It's difficult as it is to walk around the seas of colours as he recalls how his Nan used to sit beneath the cherry tree, constantly rocking back and forth in her rocking chair with a blissful smile on her face. She can't do that anymore, isn’t here to keep it going, but Louis is trying to keep the memory alive. All the more reason to put a stop to this crime that's been happening. He's going to catch the thief one day. He swears by it.

A movement in the corner catches his eye. Louis peers around the bushes, hoping to catch a glimpse this time around, to finally bust the mysterious felon who's been messing up his Nan's garden for all this time. His hand absently scratches over his heart, fingertips tracing the dark ink of the numbers etched across his skin he'd gotten in honour of his grandparents. The 78 burns beneath his touch.

The movement turns out to be a bird, daintily hopping up and down the branches of his pink tree. His hold on the armrest relaxes but his legs keep on restlessly moving up and down. He really, really needs to go for a wee. Certainly, those five minutes it takes him to go back inside and back out again won't be crucial, right? It's five minutes. He can do this. He can.

He walks back in, relieves himself as quick as he can and returns to the garden, wringing his hands as he walks back towards the cherry tree.

"Fuck," he breathes when he notices.

The rose bush is missing a flower or three. A few tulips have been nicked as well, along with his Nan's favourite lilac dahlias. A random collection, it seems. There's no one in sight for him to chase after.

He curses loudly and stomps back inside, clenching his fists in an attempt to push down the frustration boiling in his gut. He needs a cuppa to get settled again, because today is not his day. That's okay, he tells himself. He'll catch them another time. He will.

 ~*~

"Liam, it's happened again," Louis whines on the phone as he's standing in his garden, looking around the sea of colours and wanting to cry at what he sees. He hadn't caught the flower thief, is the thing. He had missed them not once, nor twice, but three times now, and he's desperately trying to find a pattern, trying to figure out if his criminal has a favourite time around the clock to go and vandalize everything Louis holds dear, but he keeps somehow missing him.

Or her. He's not sexist enough to believe that women can't be criminals - in fact, he finds them vaguely terrifying. One day, women will take over the world and there's nothing Louis could do to stop it.

Anyway. Male or female, Louis doesn't share his garden. His Nan always said that the favourite thing about her garden is who she shared it with. Louis shares it with himself, thank you very much, and absolutely not with a stranger who decides to pluck his flowers without asking him. That’s just plain rude.

He glances to the street, back to the sidewalk and ending at his pink begonia's, purple hydrangeas and deep coloured roses so dark they almost seem black.

"Thanks, Nan, for leaving me roses black like my soul," he scoffs and kicks away a stray leaf that fell from the tree.

Liam’s laugh on the other end of the line reminds him that he’s not alone. He bristles, picking up a left-over snapdragon, and stares at it thoughtfully. He doesn't have a tent (that time at Leeds festival he'd just slept in Zayn's, who'd been sleeping in Liam's most of the time. Louis deeply regrets introducing them to each other). Maybe it's time that he finally buys himself one. If he camps out the entire night, there’s no way he won’t catch the thief then.

“You’re not buying a tent, Tommo,” Liam’s tinny voice sounds incredulously in his ear. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

“I can do whatever I want,” Louis snaps and ends the call abruptly. He doesn't feel that bad - Zayn will be there to kiss it better the minute Liam as much as pouts at him. Louis is busy enough feeling bad for himself right now, thanks.

If he opens up Google and looks up “where to buy a tent as cheap as possible”, no one has to know.

~*~

As it turns out, tents are ridiculously expensive when you're planning on not using them ever again. Even worse, Zayn refused to lend him his. Why Zayn has a tent in the first place, Louis will never understand - that boy loves his luxury and products even more than Louis ever will. He'd barely survived Leeds if it wasn't for Liam, let alone a week in pure natural conditions.

So. No tent. He buys himself an underwater camera instead (it's England, after all - who knows when the skies come pouring down) and plans on putting it on the patio for a nice, clear overview. He's starting to feel like Sherlock Holmes - if Sherlock Holmes kept on repeatedly failing his missions, that is.

"You're obsessed," Liam says one Saturday night as Louis peers out the window, messily fumbling about with the camera in his hands and making sure the batteries are working. Zayn pulls Liam into his lap and kisses him quiet. Louis rolls his eyes. He'd hopefully been thinking the honeymoon phase would be over after two years. Hadn't they said that it wouldn't last more than a year?

Either way, both him and the experts had been wrong. The two of them are absolutely gross (and his low tolerance of this kind of behaviour has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Louis has been in a dry spell for over a year).

"Babe, it's useless," Zayn mumbles and traces Liam's neck with his lips. "You know he's going to be bloody insufferable until he catches them."

"Insufferable? Excuse me?" Louis shoots them an indignant look and Liam just laughs, settling deeper into Zayn's lap.

"You were going to camp out in your own backyard, mate," Liam points out. "That's kind of a new low, even for you."

"And?" If it slightly hurt his feelings, he's not going to let it show.

"And you need something else to channel your sexual frustration into," Zayn dryly speaks up from Liam's neck. As if Zayn has any idea what it's been like. He's been getting some on the reg, he has absolutely no right to talk about sexual frustration. Honestly.

"You have no say in the matter, Malik," Louis snaps and sits down, deliberately pushing Liam off of Zayn's lap in the process. The accompanying groan that follows is oddly satisfying.

"When was the last time you even got laid? Who was it again?" Zayn asks, as if he doesn't know. He lights up a cigarette and hands Louis one as well. He takes it gratefully and closes his lips around the end. He crosses his ankles, staring at his old, worn off Toms that could use a replacement, if he's honest. He just can't be arsed to spend more money if he can help it.

"Eric," he admits reluctantly. That was before his Nan passed away. Over a year ago. He can't look Zayn nor Liam (who is decently sitting down next to Zayn instead of on top of him) in the eye.

The silence that follows is almost deafening.

"Eric? As in, bloody Prince Eric who turned out to be a gobby arsehole and left the bathroom after you gave him a blowie?" Zayn asks after a moment that stretches out for too long to be comfortable.

Fine. Maybe Zayn really didn't know Eric was his last conquest.

"You don't have to rub it in, mate," Louis snaps, a bit miffed. If he's sulking, it's completely understandable. It hadn't been the highlight of his pulling career and his life hasn't exactly been all rainbows and sunshine since then either.

"That's rubbish. You're putting on a clubbing outfit and we're getting you a nice bloke tonight," Liam speaks up decidedly. He stalks off towards the bedroom and Louis has no choice but to follow him before Liam finds things that his innocent eyes weren't ever meant to see.

He's only human, after all.

~*~ 

When Louis gets home at seven in the bloody morning he's vaguely annoyed, slightly hating his life and absolutely hammered.

His night out with Liam and Zayn had been an absolute bust. Not only had those two only been sucking each other's faces off and paying no mind to Louis at all, but he'd seen no one who tickled his fancy or gave him even a little bit of the collywobbles. It isn't that he hates himself, or thinks he's ugly or unworthy or anything of the sorts - he's just picky. After Eric, he can't say that it's unwarranted. There's been enough men in his life who have left him until now, he's not going to let someone else screw him over like that. Not if he can help it.

Thanks a lot, dad, he thinks to himself and promptly feels the need to throw up. God, he's too drunk for this.

Point being, it's seven in the morning, the sun is slowly rising and turning his garden a bright saturation of colours that his eyes are too tired for to properly be able to enjoy and he still has a mad case of blue balls. There's a pang in his chest where his grandparents used to be, and he knows he could ring up his mum later today, relive some memories, but it only makes it worse. It's a constant reminder that Louis is alone in a house that used to be filled with love and chatter.

There's a rustle where it's supposed to be quiet, the leaves of the bushes making an alarmingly loud noise this early in the morning. His ears prick up, oddly focused all of a sudden, his body on high alert as he shoots up abruptly and feels his body set into fight or flight mode. Louis reaches behind him, and if this was a film, he would grab hold of a machine gun to scare away whoever is vandalizing his property. Except this isn't a film. All he has is his phone.

He realizes that he must look slightly insane, clutching his phone like a weapon, but he can't be arsed to be embarrassed. The ground creaks and Louis spins around, his eyesight turning a bit blurry at the motion and his stomach churning along with it.

When his eyes somehow manage to go into focus again, he's confronted with a man about his age, maybe a bit younger, with the most unruly head of curls Louis has seen in his entire life. Big green eyes stare at him, laced with an edge of guilt that he recognises as the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The cookie jar being his flowers this time around, obviously.

With his practically painted on jeans, bright pink lips and hair that could rival Rapunzel's, the man in front of him mostly seems to resemble a wild, younger version of Mick Jagger. Louis notes that the guy's hands are intertwined with his petunias, frozen at the touch. Louis feels a bit dizzy with it (though that could be the alcohol doing its work as well).

"Oops," Mick Jagger says out loud, as if stealing someone's flowers isn't worth more than an 'oops'. For some reason, the anger in Louis' stomach hasn't fired up to full speed yet, a hint of something else settling in his insides instead. He chooses to ignore it in favour of finally saying something.

"Hi. There you are," Louis blurts out eventually. He wants to smack himself in the face immediately after. Way to be threatening, Tommo, really doing a bang up job of that right here.

"Here... I am?" Mick Jagger blinks, the terror on his face slowly morphing into unmasked confusion.

As Louis picks his slackened jaw up from the ground, he remembers to paint a frown on his face instead of the gobsmacked look he's probably sporting at this moment.

"Do you do that a lot?" he mumbles and crosses his arms in an attempt to look at least vaguely threatening. It doesn't seem to work, seeing how Mick Jagger has the nerve to pull the petunias out of the ground and holding them in his arms as he stands up and looks straight at Louis.

"Do I do what a lot?" There's a smirk curling around his lips and Louis' sight gets blurry for a second, the feeling in his stomach slowly turning into a furious kind of chaos the more he thinks about this unruly kind of figure getting on his knees in his garden. His grip on his phone loosens now that he's sure his flower thief isn't someone that's here to kill him along the way. Someone with eyes like his surely isn't capable of murder.

He hopes, at least.

"Do you often steal flowers from those who are actually honest members of society?" Louis grits out, his palms curling into fists against his sides.

"Steal? I thought this was public property," Mick Jagger gets out, shock written across his features now. Louis barks out a laugh. It sounds cynical and too loud even to his own ears.

"Public property? Mate, how many public places do you know that have a bloody house connected to them?" he snaps. He must be dreaming, alcohol clouding his judgement and leaving him impaired, obviously, because there's no way that the reincarnation of Mick Jagger is here on a Sunday fucking morning, arguing with him about whether or not his own garden is public property or not. This is ridiculous. Shit like this doesn't even happen in film.

"I don't know, okay! It looked too ridiculously gorgeous for it to be anything but like... public. No one has the time to keep up a garden like this. Like, have you ever seen it?"

"Have I seen it? It's my own bloody garden, _for fuck's sake_ ," Louis throws his hands up in frustration. He makes a decision then.

What he does next can be blamed on the alcohol and alcohol only.

"Alright, Mick," he says determinedly and pockets his phone, moving to stand next to him. If Mick seems confused about the nickname, Louis doesn't notice. "This can't go on like this."

"It can't?" Mick asks carefully and eyes Louis up and down. Louis shakes his head.

"Take me to this date you're obviously so arse over tits for that you're stealing flowers for her," Louis demands. Mick falters, curly hair falling in his face as he looks down.

"Date?" Christ, this guy is pretty slow on the uptake, isn't he? Every sentence that has come out of his mouth so far has been a question. And Louis thought _his_ brain wasn't up to par today.

"Don't be daft, mate. You know, the girl that is apparently pretty enough to warrant flower theft. I want to see her, tell her exactly where you got these flowers from. See if she still fancies you after that," he says and smirks. After looking at Mick's stricken face, he adds: "If she does, you two fully deserve each other."

It's Sunday morning. Absolutely no one has a date on Sunday morning. If Louis hadn't been drunk, maybe he'd realize his mistake, but the fact remains that he's smashed off his arse and has no recollection of anything but an insanely attractive criminal standing in his garden. His brain doesn't make the connection. He'll probably remember it after he's had some sleep later that day.

Probably not, though.

"Alright," Mick says after a silence that stretches out so long, Louis almost forgets what he'd demanded in the first place.

"Alright," Louis confirms and in a flash of something that's probably liquid courage, grabs the guy's hand and drags him out of his garden. In a passing motion, he steals the flowers out of Mick's grip and holds them in his free hand instead. He's going to hold on to these as long as he can. 

"Lead the way," he groans and marches along with the lad's gigantic giraffe legs. He's fucking seething. If he has to jog a little to keep up with his pace, no one has to know. The important thing is that he's marching along with the felon that has been defiling his home for weeks on end now. What the hell is his life. 

"Unbelievable," he mutters under his breath, his grip on the lad's hand tightening. "Fucking public property."

"What's that now?" his companion says then. He sounds vaguely amused. Louis will have none of that. There's nothing amusing about this: he's going to ruin his life exactly like Curly here ruined his. He will torment him - his date won't even know what hit her.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Mick," Louis grumbles, throwing him a glare that could cut glass if he'd been sober. Normally, he's very frightening. People have told him. "Just keep on walking. The sooner we get there, the better."

'It's not Mick, it's Harry," Not-Mick clarifies. Louis' stomach pleasantly flips at the sound of the name falling off his lips. He chooses not to pay attention to any of it.

"Whatever," He doesn't dignify it with a further response, except to lowly add under his breath: "Still so rude. Stealing flowers. Who does that? Fucking rubbish."

There's guilt flashing across Mick's - no, wait, Harry's - face now, even in his drunken state Louis can see that, and he softens. He's suddenly very aware of the way his hand is still clasped in Harry's, burning against his skin, and pulls himself free hurriedly.

"So, Harry. Must be some special bird, innit?" he starts. He sounds a bit malicious, maybe even jealous - he knows. He tries to pass it off as simply being furious about his flowers, but he isn't entirely sure it's still about that. He hasn't been able to tell what he's feeling for quite a while now.

Harry shrugs, clearly having decided to let Louis stew for a bit, and it's only riling Louis up more. Before he knows it, he's muttering more offensive rubbish under his breath, and he's aware that he comes off as a grumpy old man, but he can't help it. He barely knows Harry and yet he crawled right underneath his skin.

They come to a stand still in front of a gate eventually, and Louis registers that they're in front of a closed gate that evidently leads to a graveyard.

"What on bloody earth are we doing here, Harry?" he asks and stares at the letters that have become so unfamiliar to him even if they shouldn't be. He hasn't been here since his granddad died. He should have visited, he knows that, but he couldn't bear to visit their joint grave. If that makes him a shit grandson, so be it. It's not like they're here to call him out on it anyway, he thinks sadly. 

Harry doesn't answer as he slowly opens the gate and walks ahead. Louis stands still, gaping after him.

"Is this a game to you, Curly? Why the fuck are we visiting a graveyard?" he yells after him, but Harry doesn't turn around, just steadily keeps on walking. Louis throws his hands up in exasperation and follows after Harry, still muttering under his breath. His brain-to-mouth filter seems to have disappeared completely. He's so tired and still so, so drunk.

"A bit morbid, having a date with ghosts," he grumbles and then looks around searchingly. Standing here alone is giving him the jitters. For a bit, he can't find Harry, mistakenly looking for a tall giraffe-boy marching between the tomb stones, until he sees a head of curly hair kneeling on the ground and putting down the flowers he'd nicked off of Louis when he hadn't been looking. His heart sinks to his toes, dread filling him throughout. Oh, god. No.

He quietly walks up to Harry and kneels down next to him, reading the letters on the stone. _Desmond Styles_ , it says in pretty, swoopy letters. Below, the dates _25/10/1957 - 13/04/2014_ have been engraved. He has no idea who Desmond Styles is, but it must have been someone important to Harry - he can tell by the wet shine that has laced his green, innocent eyes. Louis hates himself a little for lashing out earlier.

"You can tell my dad where I got the flowers from, if you want," Harry breaks the silence and smiles sadly. Louis can feel his heart plummeting to the ground and crashing into pieces. He fucked up so bad. Oh, god. He's such a shit person. Why is he such a shit person?

"I'm sorry," he gets out eventually, and then, because he can't help himself, apparently, and he's just god damn terrible all around, he whispers: "It's still not okay for you to steal my flowers."

Harry barks out a laugh at that, loud and ugly and refreshing in the heavy atmosphere that's been suffocating them, and Louis lets out a breath in relief. He stares at Harry, not quite sure what his eyes are telling him because he can't seem to grab a hold of his emotions at all, and stares harder when Harry throws up his hands in exasperation and yells out "I thought it was public property!" louder than should strictly be allowed at a graveyard.

Harry seems to realize this as well, because he smiles, a little less sad this time, and softly speaks. "Look..." he falters, and even in his inebriated state, Louis realizes Harry is trying to figure out what his name is.

"Louis," he says guiltily. God, he's awful.

"Look, Louis," Harry continues like nothing about this entire situation is ridiculous at all, "I'm sorry about your flowers. I truly am, but you can't fault me for thinking they were beautiful. I had no idea they belonged to anyone. I promise it won't happen again."

And Louis wants to apologize himself, he really, really does, but for some reason he can't get any sympathetic words out, can't seem to be the person he should be to someone who lost a parent. He knows what it's like, to have no father figure, is the thing. He should be more understanding, able to comfort Harry in his sadness, tell him he'll be alright, but he can't, and the words that come out of his mouth instead are mostly him being a snarky arsehole again. It surprises exactly no one.

"So you do make a habit of randomly plucking every beautiful flower you see?" he says with a smirk. Instead of being affronted, like Louis had expected, a grin appears on Harry's face.

"I appreciate beauty when I see it, _Louis_ ," he adds and his eyes are still shining, but this time he seems a little fond, despite knowing Louis for not even an hour. "So did my Dad, actually," he adds softly. And Louis really wants to say that he appreciates beauty as well, he's appreciating it right now, actually, but even he knows that flirting during a moment like this is horribly inappropriate, so he holds himself back and racks his brain for anything to say that is a little less uncalled for than his flirty comments.

"My Dad did as well," is what slips out instead. "Mum told me that he used to love my grandparent's garden even more than they did. But, like. He left us before I could even talk. So. I never knew."

He slaps a hand over his mouth as realization sinks in. He hasn't talked about his Dad in years, not to Liam, or Zayn, or even his sisters. Everyone knows it's a subject better left alone, and here he goes spouting off about it to a stranger? He must be more drunk than he initially thought.

Harry doesn't speak, and that's how Louis realizes that he went too far this time around. He had no right bringing up his own father when Harry's father is _dead_. His father wasn't a bad person, wasn't someone who willingly left him behind, and yet Harry is part of the club of misfits who have only one parent left. Louis can't even imagine what that must be like, to have a father who loves you with all his heart and then losing him so soon.

A vague sense of dread falls over him then, his breath quickening as the world won't stop spinning beneath his knees, and suddenly he knows, thinks, _feels,_ that he needs to get out of here right now. Harry needs to be alone with his father's grave. Louis has no business being here, for god's sake.

"I'm so sorry. I need to..." he waves around, conveying something neither of them really understands, and gets up hurriedly. "I just. Yeah. Bye."

As he runs away from the graveyard and heads back home, he doesn't turn around even once to look back at Harry or how he's reacting. To be honest, he really doesn't want to know.

When he gets home, he rushes to the toilet and promptly throws up. 

Fuck.

~*~ 

The hangover lasts all through Sunday to Monday afternoon, forcing him to call in sick at work. It's not like he'll be missed anyway - he does exactly nothing except answer a few phone calls at best. They have other receptionists for that.

The emotional hangover stays with him all week, though. Liam laughs at him when Louis finally snaps and rings him up, rambling about his Sunday until he's out of breath and his voice hurts. Louis doesn't understand what there is to laugh about. Nothing about it was funny, and everything about it was horrifying, and not only does he now have to deal with the crushing guilt that comes with being a selfish prat, he's also half in love with a curly haired flower thief he's talked to exactly once.

His life really sucks sometimes.

"Lou, don't be a drama queen," Zayn interrupts on the other end of the line. Louis wasn't aware that his friends were interchangeable now, but since he needs to talk to someone... Well, he'll take it.

"Drama is my middle name," he shrugs. Zayn scoffs, and Louis can practically _feel_ his eyeroll, but he doesn't pay it any mind. He thinks he's deserved to be a bit dramatic here and then.

"It really isn't, mate. Just go outside for some fresh air, yeah? Staying inside won't do you any good," Zayn offers and Louis hates to admit it, but he might be right. Fresh air does sound like a pretty good idea - the inside of his house is slowly driving him up the walls as he can feel himself growing increasingly insane.

With his mobile still clutched between his ear and his shoulder, he unlocks the backdoor and steps out on the patio. At least this time around, he won't walk outside to find his garden completely messed up. Deep down, he finds himself wishing that he did 

Sure enough, he doesn't walk into a garden with gaping holes where there were meant to be flowers, but he does spot an extra set of flowers draped in the seat of his Nan's rocking chair. The gasp that escapes from his lips is loud enough to be heard through his phone and transfers to the other end of the line.

"What?" Liam asks sharply, and oh, okay. Apparently he's on speaker phone. Splendid.

"Nothing, Payno. Listen, lads, I'm gonna have to ring you back, alright?" he says absentmindedly. His fingers trace the wood of the rocking chair, bumping into the stems of the flowers occasionally. A smile curls around his lips fondly.

"What is it? Are you alright?" Liam presses, sounding concerned. Louis scrapes a hand across his face and breathes deeply.

"I'm ace," he assures them and then breaks the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he stares at the collection of Queen Anne's Lace that's somehow decorating the rocking chair beautifully. In the middle of the bouquet, a note has been carefully placed, decorated with little smiley faces that look like a kid has sprawled them on.

There's no doubt in his mind that Harry did it himself.

Louis picks up the note with shaking fingers, turning it around and staring at the contents without processing that he should probably read the combination of letters in order to know what it says.

He's pathetic.

 

 _Louis_ , he reads.

_I don't know why you suddenly ran off last week, but I wanted to formerly apologize. My friend Niall said I should compensate for my theft with all the same flowers that I stole from you, but I thought it'd be better to give you a set that I hadn't seen around your garden yet. You know, for the sake of variety and all that. I also really didn't want to give you a reminder of everything I've nicked off of you. Can you blame me?_

_Anyway. If you want, we can start a club. The we-are-half-orphan-club. We can sulk in a corner and be broody and mysterious and snap at everyone when it's Father's Day and literally smash their heads in with our flowers. If that's even possible. Or we could just have fun and go drink some very manly beer instead. Either goes, really. Let me know._

_Sorry, again._

_x Harry_

_P.S: I really did think it was public property._

 

God. His chest tightens as a fond feeling falls over him. Harry is so _weird._

The note ends with a series of numbers hastily sprawled across the bottom, as if Harry hadn't been sure about it but penned his phone number down quickly before he could talk himself out of it. Louis can relate. Before his brains can stop him from doing so, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and types in the number, quickly pulling up WhatsApp and searching for Harry in there as he tries not to dwell on his profile picture.

 _That sounds like the saddest club in the world, mate,_ he types and hits send in a sudden wave of bravery. It takes barely ten seconds before he sees Harry coming online and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face at the thought of Harry waiting for him and anxiously checking his phone.

 _That's because it is. Nothing like being bitter and salty together. We could be saltmates, if you will,_ Harry replies and a surge of heat flows through Louis, starting at his cheeks and ending somewhere in his chest. The 78 itches beneath his shirt, as if all his blood has gone towards pumping his heart and burning the skin layered on top of it. His garden suddenly seems a lot more colorful, blue and red meshing together until a lilac sky swims before his eyes.

 _Hold up, Mick Jagger, I agreed to nothing yet. Let's go for those pints before I make a commitment like that_ , he says, trying to sound aloof, because this is the second time they've talked at all and already they're talking about being soul mates? They need to slow down, at least so Louis can preserve his own bloody sanity.

They agree to go out for a drink that Saturday, and apparently Harry's friend Niall knew exactly the place they should go to for a good pint, so they agree to meet up there. Niall sounds exactly like the kind of meddling friend that Zayn and Liam are - they would probably get along wonderfully. Louis can already see it unfold right in front of his eyes.

So much for taking it slow, then. He's a joke. 

~*~

Louis isn't nervous. He isn't. He also absolutely hasn't called over Liam and Zayn to figure out what the hell he's supposed to wear, because it's not like they're experts on the matter or anything.

He's a mess, really. Though he has to admit that he looks damn good despite his mental breakdown, his red scoop neck showing off the curves of his chest tattoo, black skinnies clinging around his bum. It's a look. He knows it is.

It doesn't make him any less anxious.

When he meets Harry at the pub, he resembles nothing of the sad, fragile kid barely holding it together that Louis had pictured in his head. As it is, Louis must admit that maybe Harry hadn't been like that at all in the first place. If anything, their back and forth through text had proven that Harry has his wits about him as much as Louis does and isn't afraid to shoot back. Louis really, really digs that in a guy.

He's really into Harry, if he's honest.

The look that Harry shoots him is one that he will file away for the rest of his life, pure amazement and a bit of hunger hidden in there that definitely hadn't been present the first time around. It makes his chest bloom in satisfaction, a seed of something planted inside of him that's never going to die down if he can help it.

"Hiya, saltmate," Harry grins and promptly pulls him into a hug, dragging Louis close to his chest in a bone crushing hug that nearly takes his breath away.

"I thought I told you to not call me that," Louis groans against his neck and reluctantly pushes himself away from Harry before he does something creepy. Like sniff him or something. He might have almost done it anyway.

"You also told me to tell my date I stole the flowers," Harry shrugs and then, by some kind of miracle, pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back that look a lot fancier than the ones he used to steal from Louis. "But these aren't stolen, so that would be lying, and my mum taught me not to lie, so."

Louis can feel himself turn bright red, cheeks flaring up as he stares at this beautiful, beautiful boy who's already nicer to him than any of his previous lays have ever been. Not that Harry is a lay, or will be, for that matter - he's not going to assume - but still. It's nice. The gesture is nice.

Louis doesn't deserve this.

"I don't deserve this," he sighs as he stares at the flowers. Harry's face falls.

"What? Why not?"

"I'm such an arsehole," he moans and scrubs his hands over his face, holding his cheeks in the palms of his hands. "I'm an absolute knobhead to you the entire time, and you buy me the most expensive set of flowers I've ever seen. And I'm just, like. Being a pest to you any chance I get. I'm sorry. Christ."

"Take the flowers, Louis," Harry says softly and takes Louis' hand in his, squeezing it lightly. "I like it when you're being an arse. I can be a bit of a dick as well, in case you can't tell. And a criminal at that. I think I'm the one worse off, here."

Louis grins at that and squeezes Harry's hand in return, urging him to go inside then. Fine. Maybe he needs to get the fuck over himself anyway. 

As it turns out, Niall had been absolutely right. The pints they're getting are out of this world. They're pleasantly buzzed after their first round, and almost drunk after the second. Something inside of him whispers that he should probably give it a rest now, go home, but he finds that he's enjoying Harry's company too much to be able to let it go.

He's so absolutely arse over tits for this boy already, it kind of scares him a little. 

"Do you want to talk about your Dad?" he blurts out eventually and he regrets it almost immediately, but his head is swimming with thoughts of Harry and his Dad and both of them relating to each other on a level that they probably shouldn't. Normally he'd reign it in, keep the words and emotions close to his chest like a secret that he's meant to keep until he physically can't anymore, but he finds that with Harry he _wants_ to share. Wants to hear what Harry feels, and thinks, and wants to tell Harry what he feels in return. It isn't normal, but then again, nothing about the two of them has been average in any way.

It's best that he accepts that as soon as possible so he can roll with the punches.

"Talk about my Dad?" Harry says and even though he sounds surprised, he doesn't look like he's very hesitant to bring it up. The tightness in Louis' chest lifts at that and he smiles, trailing his fingers over the back of Harry's hand.

"Only if you want," he says softly. Harry nods, frowning slightly as he's thinking of the words that best describe what he's feeling. Louis waits patiently.

"It's weird, y'know? I miss him, of course, but it's harder to see my Mum do it all on her own. I know my sister and I are old enough to care for ourselves and it could be harder, she could be supporting a big household on her own, but now she's lonely," Harry says and for once his words aren't slow and careful, but he throws them out as if it's something he can't hold inside for another second. Louis' fingers still on his hand and he flattens them over the back of his hand, enveloping Harry's knuckles with his own palm.

"My mum raised me on her own completely," Louis admits. "And then she found a new husband and my sisters were born, first Lottie, then Fiz and then the twins, and then my stepdad broke up with her too. I've always felt like I was supposed to be the man of the house, but y'know what I've learned, Harry?"

Harry doesn't answer, just stares at him expectantly, and Louis continues: "Our mums don't need a man at all. They're kickass enough on their own, to be honest. Mums are the real heroes in this world."

The sad part is that he means every word of it, no matter how cliché it sounds. Harry stares at him, bewildered, as if he's the second coming of Christ, and then surges forward. Before Louis' brain can register what's happening, Harry's lips are pressed against his, moving in a way that makes his toes curl and literally takes his breath away. He's dying, he's sure of it.

What a beautiful way to go.

His lips open on their own accord. Harry slips him the tongue, slowly urging forward, and if Louis wasn't so pleasantly buzzed, hadn't lost a bit of his inhibitions, he would've stopped the moan that escaped from his lips into Harry's mouth. It falls from his tongue easily and carries out in the air, haunting their movements. Harry tastes like the beer they've been drinking, a shared thing between the two of them, and Louis briefly wonders if he tastes any different than Harry does and how he could ever find out without doing some kind of weird bodyswap. The thought quickly leaves his brain as Harry does a thing with his tongue that makes him shiver.

Louis frees the hand that was still holding Harry's and lifts it to his hair instead, playing with the curls at the end like he's wanted to ever since he saw him for the first time. He lets out a content sigh, tongue moving against Harry's and pushing down urgently, reveling in the taste.

He already knows that he could kiss Harry forever and not get sick of it for a single second.

Harry pulls back then and bashfully smiles, the curl of his lips irresistible to Louis now that he knows what they feel like against his own. He grabs his wallet, pulls out a few bills and dramatically slams a few tenners down on the table.

"Let's get out of here," he grins and pulls Harry up by the hand, who's clutching onto the bouquet of flowers like a life line. Louis can't wait to snog him senseless.

~*~

It goes the same for their second date, and their third, and their fourth. Louis tends to bring the alcohol and provides for the flowers (taken from his own garden, of course. There's no rule specifying he can't steal from his own property, after all).  Harry takes it upon himself to prepare some food for the two of them, which Louis gladly lets him take care of. It always ends in heated snogging sessions on the couch and riling each other up until the other is a shivering mess.

For some reason, neither of them can get past the barrier of sloppy, erratic handjobs with their zippers barely down. He can't explain why that is, and it's okay, at first. As much as Louis loves being a tease and watch Harry fall apart with nothing more than his hands, Louis officially decides he's had enough after their evening date to the cinema to see Magic Mike XXL. Neither of them had been able to pay attention to the screen - he's spent the entire two hours with Harry's hand up his thigh, driving him a little more crazy with every touch, until he felt like he was literally about to burst into his jeans.

This can't go on. Something needs to be done.

He pulls Harry in to the nearest Tesco's and makes him buy the two of them a cheap bottle of wine and some Doritos to go with. As they walk down to the counter, he makes sure to throw in a new bottle of lube with it as well. He's never said he was the classiest guy, after all.

"Going to make you come tonight," he whispers as the cashier rings up the wine. By the way Harry's cheeks flame red and the cashier sends the two of them a scandalized look, he apparently wasn't as quiet as he thought he was. Oh, well. What can you do?

"Yeah?" Harry breathes back throatily. He slaps a few pounds onto the counter in a manner that isn't much less dramatic than Louis' back on their first date and Louis grins, feeling accomplished at the way Harry doesn't seem to be able to focus on his words or actions anymore. This is going to be so much fun.

Harry grabs the Doritos and the wine as Louis sneakily slips the lube into his pocket. It will come in handy later, he’s sure.

They practically run back to the house, ecstatic at the thought of finally taking it further. It's hot out for this time of year, the late August air warm and making them feel fuzzy around the edges. If he were more sentimental, Louis would notice the colours of the trees, of the flowers, the smell of late summer hanging in the air, but he doesn't. All he can focus on is Harry's hand in his and how he'll get to enjoy that hand a lot more once they get home.

They arrive at number 78 and come to a stand still. When Louis searches down his pockets for his keys to unlock the door, it takes him a while until he finally comes to terms with the fact that his keys aren't in his jeans. Must have been bloody Harry messing about with him.

"Harry, give me back my keys, please," Louis half-giggles and pushes Harry off of him, attempting to look at him sternly. It doesn't exactly work. His threatening stare isn't as threatening as it was when he first met Harry, apparently.

"What are you on about?" Harry asks and pats his pockets, coming up empty. "I don't have them, why would I? It's your house."

"Well, I don't have them either, so..."

"So..." Harry repeats, dumbfounded. Louis realizes they're locked out at the same time Harry does. They burst into another fit of giggles at first, until it comes crashing down on Louis that they had _plans_. Important plans that involved Harry's mouth and Louis' dick and the two of them meeting somewhere down the line.

Bloody hell.

Harry doesn't look nearly as devastated as Louis does, which Louis can't wrap his head around. Harry's eyes are mischievously glistening, a filthy smirk decorating his lips, and Louis desperately wants to know what's going on there.

It doesn't take him long to find out.

"Let's go out back, yeah?" Harry says and offers out his hand, tagging Louis along with him as they head to the garden, past the fence where he saw Harry for the first time, and onwards to the cherry tree.

"Are you cold?" Harry asks and Louis shakes his head as Harry shrugs off his jacket and lays it out on the ground. They sit down, wine and Doritos in hand, and open up both of them as they cuddle into each other.

"At least we have a survival package," Harry grins as he takes a swig and hands the bottle over to Louis.

"Wine and Doritos, what more could a bloke want?" Louis jokes, trying to lighten the mood. In hindsight, he really should have seen coming what comes next.

"You," Harry states bluntly and just like that, the mood significantly changes. Without a second thought, Harry practically pounces on him, seated in his lap. He casts the wine and bag of chips aside as he kisses Louis deeply, fucking into his mouth immediately. He moves around, pushing against Louis with his hips until he falls back with his shoulders resting against the cherry tree to hold him up. He can already feel that Harry is hard, and Louis himself isn’t much better off after hours of anticipation and disappointment. He’s straining against his jeans, harder than he’s been in weeks.

He lets out a sigh at the slight friction he craved for, but it isn’t enough, never enough. He throws out any and all subtlety that he might have had into the wind and slides his hand down to Harry’s ridiculously tight jeans, mumbling a “fuck it” into his mouth as he pops the button. He slides his hand in just enough to find that Harry’s not wearing any pants.

“Expecting it, were we?” he grins and grabs Harry’s dick before he can properly formulate an answer. He thumbs the slit, Harry letting out a shuddering breath above him, and oh, _yes._ That’s more like it.

He gets lost in Harry for a second, not noticing anything but the scene in front of him and his own hand on Harry’s head, until he’s suddenly very aware of the way Harry’s panting into his mouth, his hips riding up against him in the same rhythm as they’re kissing. It’s a sound he’s pretty sure is going to be imprinted on his mind for the rest of forever.

Quiet ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are leaving Harry’s lips in silent sobs. He tears his mouth away from Louis’, hips stuttering into his grip as he watches him with half-lidded eyes. This isn’t new, is the thing. They’ve exchanged hand jobs before, but Louis wants to see him, feel him, feel Harry’s mouth on regions no one has been in ages. He aches for it so much that it’s practically a thirst that needs to be quenched, or else he’ll die.

Okay, so maybe Liam and Zayn had a point about him being a tad too dramatic sometimes. Whatever.

“You’re so hot,” he mumbles, the fingers of the hand not wrapped around Harry’s dick tracing the lines of his lips. He brings his own to Harry’s throat and lets them linger across the skin, kissing and caressing without leaving a bruise. He can feel Harry’s breath get caught in his throat, trembling with the effort of staying upright. “Wanna see you.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes heavily, eyes snapping open. Neither of them care that they’re out in the open, or that Louis’ neighbours could see them at any time, or that anyone could walk by. It’s nearing midnight and the anticipation has been building for much longer than that. It’s time. His hand moves up from Harry’s dick to his shirt and fingers the hem, popping open the buttons as he goes up as slowly as he can possibly manage.

“Louis,” Harry warns, impatient. Louis grins filthily, ripping open the shirt in one go and sliding it off his shoulders. The fabric falls to the ground, silky and flowy as it goes. His nails dig into Harry’s shoulder blades and Harry whimpers at the touch, shivering as Louis digs his nails in deeper.

“Oh, so you like it to hurt a little?” he says lowly and bites down on Harry’s earlobe, scraping his teeth across the skin.

“Louis, please,” Harry’s voice sounds wrecked. Louis fills up with pride at managing to reduce his boy to a mess without doing much more than tease a little. It’s not until Louis pulls back that he notices the trail of tattoos scattered across Harry’s chest, a collection of a huge butterfly combined with a seemingly random array of some letters and dates sprawled across the milky canvas. The ones that take his breath away, however, are the ones framing his pelvis, the ferns accentuating the V of his hips. 

Louis’ mouth waters at the sight. He simultaneously wants to reduce Harry to a mess and wants Harry to take him apart. He can’t decide what he wants more tonight. Either way, Harry has to get naked properly like, yesterday.

He quickly lifts Harry off his lap and gestures him to get rid off his jeans before he gets rid of his own shirt, exposing his own tattoos to Harry’s hungry eyes, who laps it up eagerly. His gaze travel across his chest tattoo and he reaches out to touch, fingers tracing the letters so gentle that he can barely feel it. It’s heavenly.

He shucks his jeans and pants, dick springing free against the air. Louis takes out his wallet and the bottle of lube they’d recently acquired and silently thanks himself for the foresight of needing a new bottle, or he would be absolutely fucked right about now. Or not. Depends how you look at it, really.

As he sits back against the tree and takes the condom out of his wallet, Harry settles on his knees between his legs, tracing the tan skin of Louis’ thighs with a single finger.

“Can I try something on you?” Harry asks softly, almost bashfully. “It’s a bit much, maybe, but I… I really want to.”

“As if there was anything I’d ever say no to when it comes to you,” Louis blurts out and immediately groans, closing his eyes in embarrassment. Talking about a bit much, for god’s sake. It’s their first time.

“Good to know,” Harry merely smirks in response and strokes Louis up and down a few times until he’s fully hard, dick standing up firm and proud between the two of them. He can’t stop shaking, fingers trembling as Harry closes his fingers around the head of his dick a little bit tighter and bends over to lick at it eagerly. His right hand pushes down on Louis’ hips, holding him down firmly.

“I promise you’ll like this,” he says then and looks up at Louis through his eyelashes. Which, yeah, okay - Louis won’t ever turn down a blowjob. He doesn’t see how it’s something Harry wants to “try on him”, but maybe he’s never done it before. That’s completely fine, of course. Louis isn’t one to judge a man on his experience.

Harry licks his lips filthily and traces his tongue down the side of Louis’ dick, dipping down to his balls until he reaches his perineum, and flatten his tongue and - _oh_. Okay. Maybe Louis was wrong. He sees where this is going now.

Sweat starts to pool around his forehead when Harry looks up and smirks, the hand that previously had a grip on his hips sliding down to his balls, fondling them softly in his hands. Louis can’t help it, he thrashes around, bringing his hands down to Harry’s hair. He can practically feel Harry grin widely, tips of his mouth curling up around the skin of his thighs. Harry’s tongue slips out and kisses the skin around Louis’ rim, making him thrust up into his mouth. He dips his tongue into his hole occasionally, quickly but fleeting, left hand leaving Louis’ dick to spread his cheeks wide open. His hole flutters against the cold air.

Harry flicks his tongue in a little deeper to watch Louis thrash around, his left hand dragging across the grass as he tries to get a hold of himself. Louis snaps his eyes shut and furrows his eyebrows, trying to regain some control in the situation.

“Haz... _Fuck_ , Harry, oh,” he hears, and it takes him a second to realize it’s him who’s making those noises. He’d be ashamed, weren’t it for the fact that it feels _so good_. He hasn’t been rimmed before, at least not properly, not like this.  He thinks he could do this for the rest of his life.

His hands tighten in Harry’s hair, scratching across his scalp, and that’s when Harry really goes for it, eagerly lapping up the sweat against his hole and stiffening his tongue to dip in as deep as he can. He fucks into him with his tongue in a steady rhythm until Louis can’t help but let out a string of whimpers that seem to come from someone else than him, little sounds falling off his lips. He’s slipping out of consciousness, the ground feeling a little bit further away with every move of Harry’s tongue against his arse, heat curling low in his belly.

“Do you think you could come like this?” he hears then and he stops breathing at the thought of it, of Harry eating him out until he comes untouched. He wants to, he wants nothing more, but right now all he wants is Harry’s dick in him, stretching him open and filling him up. Tonight he wants everything.

“Maybe… Not tonight,” he pants out and tugs on Harry’s hair to get his point across. “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry falters, tongue coming to a stop in Louis’ arse, and he pulls back in shock. Louis whimpers in between breaths, aching at the loss of Harry’s warmth against him.

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to fuck me tonight?” he says, voice laced with doubt. His mouth is still shining with spit and sweat and it’s nothing short of obscene. This boy is a godsend. 

“I’m sure. Next time I want to take you apart until you don’t know your own name,” Louis whispers and drags him close, kissing him hard. He remembers belatedly where Harry’s mouth has been, but finds that he can’t bring himself to care. “But tonight I want your cock up my arse.”

“Fuck, okay,” Harry lets out a shaky breath and reaches down next to him for the lube, coating his fingers until they’re shiny and wet. The air is thrumming with anticipation, waiting for the two of them to finally get to it already.

“Do it quick,” Louis warns as he finds his voice and remembers that he’s holding the reigns here. Harry pouts at him, wiggling his fingers at him suggestively. “No teasing, Styles, I mean it.”

“Fine,” Harry rolls his eyes and pats his thigh with his dry hand until Louis spreads his legs across Harry’s lap. He can barely take a shuddering breath before Harry’s lube coated finger is pressing against his hole and the tip slips in. He expected to be tighter, is the thing, but then he remembers that Harry just rimmed him into oblivion and he flushes until his neck is a lovely shade of red as well. Harry pushes in deeper, the fingers of his free hand rubbing up and down his thigh to make him relax, and Louis can feel himself allow the intrusion until Harry’s finger is buried in his bum. He can barely count to two as Harry adds another and prods around curiously, fucking his fingers into Louis deeper.

Electricity bursts through him then, the entire world turning black for a second. He gasps, kicking Harry in the back weakly make him pay attention.

“I told you, no teasing,” he grits out but he can’t help but arch into the touch as Harry keeps digging into his prostate with his fingers. He’s going to pay for this next time, he swears by it. When he’s not getting fucked, that is.

“Oh, pardon me. Was that sensitive?” Harry, the little shit, grins, and pulls his fingers out. Louis whines at the loss, already feeling empty, but quickly swallows it down when he sees Harry lazily wanking himself off. He reaches for the condom. Louis stops him before he can unwrap it.

“I haven’t had sex in a year,” he admits. Harry opens his mouth to assure him, but Louis holds up a finger. He’s not done talking. “When was the last time you got tested?”

Logically, he knows it’s a dumb idea. They barely know each other, really, but he wants to feel him, wants to know what it’s like. If there’s any chance, he wants to do it tonight.

“Last week,” Harry says slowly. “The results came out negative. I’m clean.” Louis breaks out in a grin at that.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he smirks and pulls Harry into him, grabbing the lube and slicking him up quickly but efficiently. The time for teasing is not now.

“God, you’re amazing,” Harry breathes and lines himself up against Louis’ hole. Louis braces himself, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist to pull him closer. He can feel Harry press against his entrance, but Harry kisses him first, prying his lips open and breathing into Louis’ mouth as he pushes in. Louis spreads himself open, willing Harry to go in deeper, slowly but surely, until he’s buried to the hilt and he feels so full that he thinks he might cry. He can’t believe he gets to be so lucky to do it bare. It’s intimate in ways he hadn’t anticipated, tears pooling at the edges of his vision.

They both moan, the sounds filling the night sky, carried out much farther than they should. Neither of them can bring themselves to care.

“Alright?” Harry asks carefully and kisses him, over and over, until Louis stops shaking at the intrusion. Harry’s hand moves down to the corner of Louis’ eyes, wiping at them until the tears have disappeared.

“It’s been a while,” he smiles weakly and wiggles around a bit, experimenting with different angles until he can feel the sharp sting turn into a dull ache that borders on pleasurable. Harry’s lips travel down his jaw, nipping and biting as he goes, until Louis grinds up against him steadily. When Harry finally starts pulling back slowly, only to slam back in, Louis keens, tightening his legs around Harry’s waist and pulling him in deeper.

“Oh, god, Harry,” he whimpers, burying his face in Harry’s neck. He can feel him brace himself above him, snapping his hips into him faster and faster until the sound of skin slapping on skin is loud against the silent midnight air. His nails dig into the sweaty skin of Harry’s back, and Harry fucks into him faster, grabbing his thighs and hooking Louis’ legs over his shoulder so he’s almost bent in half. Harry is relentless; fucking into Louis so fast that Louis is mewling with it 

“Harry, there, _fuck -_ yeah, _please,”_ and Louis has never heard himself beg, not like this, but there’s a first for everything.  Harry pushes at his thigh, letting it fall open, and the change in angle has him seeing stars. Harry’s hips are snapping into his pelvis, digging into his prostate. Louis can’t feel his legs.

His movements are getting erratic, and normally Louis would be put off at that, but he’s flattered. Honestly, he’s extremely close himself. With a sudden movement, he rolls the two of them over until he’s on top and he can situate himself with his palms on Harry’s chest. Harry blinks at him, eyes wide in surprise, pupils blown with arousal. If Louis could take one picture he’d want to see for the rest of his life, this would be it, Harry fucked out and sprawled across his garden as Louis takes him down.

“I’m going to take what I want now,” he warns and starts riding Harry’s dick, slowly opening himself up as wide as he can and bottoming out until his arse is pressed against Harry’s pelvis. He takes and takes and takes until he’s bouncing on Harry’s dick, hips moving in circles as Harry presses against his sweet spot repeatedly.

“God, _Harry,”_ he moans as he braces himself and starts riding him hard until Harry is panting with it and fucks up to meet him halfway. His thighs are straining, but it just adds to the pleasure, how he has to work for his own release. He likes it, likes to work for what he wants.

Harry’s outright moaning now, hands tightening on Louis’ arse. The slap he lands on his left cheek surprises them both.

There’s no rhythm left, the both of them just chasing their own orgasms frantically. Harry slaps him again, this time on the other cheek. It takes Louis clenching down in surprise for Harry to let go - he rides it out with him, the throws of his orgasm making him tremble all over. He can feel Harry pulse inside him, warmth spreading through him until it’s dripping down his thighs. Louis keens at the feeling of Harry filling him up. It’s filthy, and he absolutely loves it 

“Get off,” Harry whimpers, and Louis grins, kissing his collarbone.

“I’m trying to, Curly,” he says, managing to sound cheeky even if he’s completely out of breath, and clenches down on Harry one last time. Suddenly, Harry’s had enough and pulls out abruptly. His hands move down to Louis’ waist and he gently lays him down on his jacket again, spreading his thighs just like when they started out. 

“Don’t freak out,” he says softly and then there’s a tongue lapping up at his arse again. Louis is confused. Why the fuck is this happening?

Then it hits him. _Harry is licking his own come out of Louis’ hole._

“Haz, you – _ah_ \- you’re going to kill me,” he wrangles out, the words coming from somewhere deep inside him. They sound alien to his own ears. His eyes close, focused on the feel of Harry’s tongue back in him, licking him clean. It’s filthy, is what it is, and it should be gross, Harry shouldn’t want to do this, but for some reason he does, and he can’t...

It’s the hottest thing that has ever happened to him.

Harry flattens his tongue against him, lapping up his own come all around Louis’ rim. Louis clenches down on him, dick straining so hard against his stomach that he feels it might explode any second.

“Babe, I… Oh,” Louis moans and arches his hips into Harry’s face. Harry eats enthusiastically, fuck, surely Louis must be licked dry by now.  “I’m gonna come, touch me, _fuck –“_

Harry pulls back and grins at him, mouth wet with come and spit and lube. Jesus Christ.

“Come for me, love,” he says and dives back in. Harry stiffens up his tongue and pushes the tip back in with just the right amount of pressure, and that coupled with his words is enough for Louis to come. His muscles contract, vision going white until it almost hurts to see. He’s releasing all over himself, dick pulsing, as Harry keeps on licking. 

It’s the best orgasm of his life. Somewhere deep down, he registers that he really did come untouched. He didn’t even know he could _do_ that.

“Harry,” he attempts weakly as his dick is slowly flagging down and it’s bordering on too much. Harry comes back up for air from Louis’ arse and stares in the direction of the patio, a frown pulling down his eyebrows. Louis sits up and slings an arm around Harry’s neck, pulling him down to his own so Harry’s teeth can nip at his skin. Louis’ head falls to the side to allow Harry more access on his neck and slide down, lips drifting over the 78 tattooed on his chest and biting down. Louis positively keens at that. He’s a slut for love bites, sue him.

Suddenly, he can feel Harry coming to a stop.   
  
"Louis. Love. Why is there a camera on the patio?" Harry asks as his chest rises and falls at a more natural rhythm now. Louis nearly chokes in surprise.

"I, uh. Was trying to catch a flower thief," he says and manages not to sound bashful about it. It's Harry's own fault, after all. He’s the one who started all this and didn’t want to get caught. They could have had this so much earlier if Harry had only shown up a bit ahead of time. It could have spared them both a lot of torment.

"Oh. Okay. That makes sense." Harry's quiet for a while, contemplative, until he rolls back onto Louis' chest and grins at him.

"If you wanted to watch the two of us fuck, you only had to say so." He bites down onto Louis' _It Is What It Is_ tattoo as he manages to grit out his filthy offer. Louis lets out a gasp, throwing his head back as a new wave of arousal crashes over him.

"Christ," he sighs. "You're insatiable." Harry just nods against him enthusiastically. This boy is going to kill him one day.

Despite the impediment of his oncoming death, Louis pulls him closer into his chest and presses a kiss to the 17black etched across Harry's skin, carefully caressing the ink. As they lean back against the base of the cherry tree, pink leaves falling down all around them as the wind softly blows around them, Louis feels his chest expand into something that can only pass as happiness. Calling it love might be a bit soon, but he thinks it might grow into it if they give it a chance. If he’s honest, he thinks they’re already well on their way there. By the way he wants to kiss the sad look off of Harry's face every time he thinks about his father, how he feels the compelling need to take care of this boy and never let him go, he's thinking that maybe he's a bit too far gone for someone he's met a total of five times. Somehow, even in this post-coital bliss, his mind goes to Niall, how he wants to gather him 'round with Liam and Zayn and get wasted at the pub until one of them has to be carried home. Or all of them. Either goes, really.  
  
Louis is seeing a future here. It should scare him, but for some reason, it really doesn't. Not when there's this absolutely wonderful, gorgeous and idiotic boy lying on his chest and chasing the curves of his tattoos as the wind blows softly around the two of them. 

He suddenly remembers the quote his Nan used to throw at him all the time, how the favourite thing about her garden was who she shared it with, and though she probably didn't mean public, filthy sex on a late August night, Louis can't help but wholeheartedly agree with her. If he has to share his garden with anyone, he's glad it's Harry he can count the dysfunctional colours of his world with. He wants to take Harry to his dad's grave and talk about his own and just share everything he has built up inside him over the years until it all comes spilling out without any fear of Harry leaving him. It's probably too serious, too fast, but he can't bring himself to care. For the first time since his grandparents passed away, Louis feels at peace.

Later, he will find the key to his front door hidden in his wallet, but it won't matter in the grand scheme of things. It’s not like they’d change anything about the way this night went in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> And for good measure, here's the prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Harry and Louis go on an evening date, and then walk back and realize they're locked out._
> 
>  
> 
> I know it got out of control. I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Also, come say hi on [Tumblr](http://loveloveolivia.tumblr.com)!


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